


Christopher's Dilemma

by panpipe



Category: Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panpipe/pseuds/panpipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Christmas season means two things to Christopher: 1) endless parties with boring, "important" people and 2) Millie coming home for the hols.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christopher's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [franglemand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/franglemand/gifts).



When Christopher is eighteen, he begins to notice that all the young ladies in the town stare at him a little longer than they used to. Some of the women—though not the ones who previously cowered in fear of his remarkable wit—have even begun to… _smile_ at him. Which is more unnerving than he thinks it should be.

“You’re just bothered because they’re trying to trap you into marriage,” Conrad whispers to him in church, when one of the young ladies smiles in a particularly lascivious manner.

Christopher is startled. He barely restrains himself enough to whisper, “They’re trying to _what_?”

“Marriage. Trap,” Conrad mutters quietly. “It’s really quite simple. Have you never read any novels?”

Christopher snorts. “Like the ones Millie reads? Aren’t those a bit girly for your tastes, Grant?”

Conrad rolls his eyes. “Let me loan you the latest Peter Jenkins novel.”

 

Peter Jenkins novels are Conrad’s guilty pleasure. The series has continued for over three years, with each novel leading Peter into new adventures and new places. Christopher tries to read one of the later novels—something about marriage marts and overzealous mothers—but finds much to his displeasure that all of Gabriel de Witt’s attempts to mold him into the perfect Chrestomanci might have worked – he’d much rather be reading the latest government missive.

“Summarize for me, Grant,” Christopher orders later that day. “Why do these girls want to marry me?”

Conrad looks up from the letter his sister Anthea sent him, detailing life as Mrs. Robert Brown in New Rome. When Conrad had first arrived in Series Twelve, he’d tried to tell Christopher again and again that his last name was Tesdinic, not Grant, and yet Christopher never changed the way he addressed the other boy. One day, when Conrad had mustered enough courage, he confronted Christopher about it. It bothered Conrad, because if Christopher couldn’t remember his real name, maybe Christopher didn’t like him anymore.

“But Grant,” Christopher had replied, “it’s like a symbol of our triumph in Series Seven. I think that makes Grant a much better name than Tesdinic, even if Tesdinic means you’re related to a count. The Chrestomanci’s involvement, after all, always trumps nobility.”

Conrad realized then that Christopher doesn’t think like ordinary boys and girls. Not like anyone, really. And even though it should have been conceited and arrogant and annoying, Christopher’s statement actually made him rather happy.

“Think about it,” Conrad began, as if this should be obvious. Christopher furrowed his brows in annoyance at the other boy’s tone. “Everyone knows you’re set to become one of the most powerful men in the world – in all the Related Worlds – whenever de Witt is no longer able to hold the position.”

At this point Christopher snorts, as he can’t imagine a time where de Witt would either 1) Let go of the position, 2) Let go of the position for Christopher, 3) Become too old or too senile or too whatever to keep Christopher from becoming Chrestomanci. The man is like some kind of unstoppable force – Christopher feels like he’ll never die. After all, de Witt is much better at holding onto his lives than Christopher has been.

Conrad hasn’t stopped talking, however. “Really, it makes perfect sense. They want to ensnare you before Millie comes home because once she’s here you’ll never look their way again until she’s gone. By then it may already be too late.”

At Millie’s name, Christopher tunes in again. “Hm? What does Millie have to do with all this?” he asks.

Conrad looks at him incredulously. “Christopher,” he says after a time, “it won’t mean anything if I have to explain it to you. I suggest you figure things out before she’s whisked away by some other handsome man.”

“Why Grant, are you calling me handsome?” Christopher quips. However, as he processes the statement, his brows furrow. “But what do handsome men have to do with anything?” Conrad merely waves a hand, as if that is any sort of adequate reply. Christopher decides that too many novels have rotted the boy’s brains, and besides, Christopher is older and wiser and Conrad is just being silly.

 

When Millie comes home for winter break, Christopher feels the charms on the Castle announce her presence and immediately rushes to her side when she enters the front hall. Millie glares at him when he appears, suffocatingly close, but Christopher can see the hint of a smile she is hiding. That smile justifies everything, and he grins as he offers her his arm to lead her into the parlor.

Millie usually talks to Conrad about the drama at school, though, not Christopher, despite her weekly letters to the older boy. After that incident with the first Swiss school she attended, what with Christopher trying to whisk her away to a deserted island together and everything, Millie has decided that Christopher need only hear the positives, and if it is truly awful, she will simply tell him in person, where she can place a spell to prevent any whisking of any sort. Thankfully, the next Swiss boarding school that Gabriel de Witt found suited Millie much better than the first. While the curriculum did include sewing, dancing, clever turns of phrase, and the like, it also included extensive opportunities to delve deeply into the subjects of math, science, philosophy, and, of course, magic. When Millie had initially learned of the curriculum, she had whined incessantly to Conrad and Christopher. It wasn’t until Gabriel de Witt laid a gentle hand on her shoulder – Conrad and Christopher had stared in awe, as Gabriel was not gentle with any of the charges – and said, “My dear, in this day and time, it is hard to avoid a finishing school that avoids those detestable subjects. This one promises not to focus their efforts on sewing over magic, however, and if it is any different, you are most welcome to write to me. We will then see about a different school.” The school’s promise was found to be true, and Millie happily agreed to stay through the entire curriculum.

“There are some times,” Millie admits later that night, “where I feel like I’m not learning as much as you lot here at the Castle, which worries me. I need to stand on my own two feet, you know? Christopher can’t come bounding to my rescue forever, not when I’m fairly powerful myself. Though I _do_ enjoy watching him try.”

Conrad almost questions the implication that Christopher would be willing to come to her rescue for the rest of his life – well, _lives_ – but then realizes there isn’t a question at all. Christopher has, for as long as Conrad has known him, dropped everything for Millie, even if it isn’t asked of him. The two are inseparable, really. He wonders why the other ladies in the town even bother.

 

As always at Christmastime, Christopher, Millie, Conrad, and the other young enchanters at the palace found themselves invited to a flurry of Christmas parties. “It’s all because we’re the Chrestomanci’s charges,” Jason told Conrad his first winter at the Castle. “I used to be just a bootboy – and now look at me! Being an enchanter has its perks.”

Christopher often finds himself at odds during the season, though not as frequently as when he was a boy. He enjoys showing others just how great he is, after all, but he also dislikes having to pretend he likes people he doesn’t care about – which includes most of the population. “He really needs to work on that,” Millie would say every year with a sigh. “Christopher can’t expect to be a successful Chrestomanci if everyone dislikes him.” Conrad, being the true friend he was, always tried to defend the older boy. “Oh hush,” Millie would reply. “Don’t you remember the first time you met him? I’ll bet you thought he was quite insufferable too. He’s let it all go to his head, you know. He’s even started wearing custom dressing gowns!”

Usually, Christopher’s need to impress others wins out in the end. Over the years, Christopher has gotten much better at telling jokes and making others feel at ease, as opposed to his old method of dealing with strangers – belittling and calling them the wrong name. Gabriel de Witt must have noticed, because in recent years he’s begun accepting more Christmas party invitations from increasingly important people.

Gabriel de Witt hosts the first Christmas party they attend. Conrad is always secretly pleased this is so because no matter how long he lives in Series Twelve, he still feels out of place. “Nonsense, Grant,” Christopher tells him whenever he voices his insecurity. “You’re friends with the next Chrestomanci – best friends, if I’m being sentimental – and that affords you quite a bit of respect. I don’t see why you let people bother you when you’re obviously superior.” Conrad never tells Millie what Christopher says, because even though Conrad is comforted by the words, he has a feeling Millie would call Christopher insufferable and then start yelling at him to grow up.

The two of them, Millie and Christopher, had loads of those fights last year, when Christopher turned seventeen. Millie said that he was finally old enough to start thinking about the future and taking his responsibilities more seriously. Christopher said that he _was_ taking his responsibilities seriously, that even Gabriel said he had improved, but all Millie had to say in reply was that if he were really maturing then the two of them wouldn’t be having that argument in the first place.

Conrad didn’t really follow Millie’s logic, so he tried to stay out of things.

Christopher considers the fights resolved, as 1) he didn’t do anything wrong, and 2) Millie continued sending her regular letters each week, as usual. Conrad isn’t sure, because when Millie arrives home for the hols – and they are always “hols”, never holidays, as Millie doesn’t allow them to be called anything else – she corners Conrad in the hallway and demands to know if Christopher has improved his behavior and thought about what will happen when he becomes Chrestomanci.

“I can’t tell from his letters, you know, he always makes himself sound so important and impressive. It’s almost adorable, except that it’s such a biased side of the story. I would have written you to ask, but it just seemed rather awkward.”

Conrad wants to ask her why she thinks it’s any less awkward to discuss in person, but thinks better of it at the last moment. He says instead, “Well, I think so. It’s probably why all the girls in the village have started flirting with him.”

Millie’s eyes flash – with surprise, then anger, then worry, then something else entirely – and Conrad begins to think he said the wrong thing.

“Thank you, Conrad,” Millie says calmly. “That explains the situation perfectly.”

Conrad fears he should have mentioned that Christopher hasn’t entertained any of them seriously, but it’s too late now. Millie’s already left the hall.

 

Nothing too unusual happens after that, not even at the party. In fact, the only difference is that Christopher finds himself heralded by several matchmaking-minded mamas, some of them going so far as to trap him into dancing with their daughters twice. “I think I see what you mean about marriage entrapment now, Grant,” he says when he returns from a dance with the young Miss Burge. He winces as he walks, and Conrad suspects Miss Burge had been quite nervous to dance with the next Chrestomanci. “If I’m not careful,” Christopher continues, “I think the gossip rags might assume a match for me. Don’t let me dance with any of them more than twice, all right? Eighteen is too young to be entertaining thoughts of marriage.”

A soft gasp of surprise comes from beside the two boys. Conrad had almost forgotten Millie was there. Christopher turns to say something to her, but she holds up a hand and places a silencing spell on him. “I don’t want to hear it,” she says simply, and as she walks out of earshot, she waves a hand and cancels the spell.

“What is her problem?” Christopher asks seriously.

 

The afternoon after Gabriel de Witt’s Christmas party, Conrad overhears Millie talking to Elizabeth and Henrietta, the two young enchantresses studying under de Witt.

“I don’t understand how boys can be so clueless,” she says, and Conrad sees her wringing her hands on her handkerchief. “I thought we had an understanding— I mean he’s always acted as if, you know, like he really cared, and it’s just— It’s like he doesn’t care if some other man— I thought the hols were going to be nice, you know, that he’d be sweet and—”

Conrad, not wanting to eavesdrop on a friend, only hears as much as he can while walking past the door of the room. He wants to know the rest, but supposes Millie will tell him if it’s really important. She usually does.

 

The next few days at Chrestomanci Castle are icy, to say the least. There isn’t much time to relax at the Castle, as each night is a flurry of parties and dancing, but the distance between Millie and Christopher is almost tangible. “I don’t understand why she’s sulking,” Christopher whispers to Conrad at the supper table. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe it’s what you haven’t done,” Conrad replies ominously, though he honestly isn’t completely sure why Millie is so upset. He has an inkling, but no concrete evidence to back up his claim.

Christopher’s eyes narrow in frustration. “Grant, say what you mean. You always have before, it’s what I like best about you.”

Conrad lets out an exasperated gasp. “This isn’t my puzzle to solve, Christopher. I’m not getting caught in the middle.”

 

Christopher reflects that, for the most part, he enjoys the Christmas parties. He has learned the art of pretending to care, enough so as to make Gabriel stare approvingly instead of ushering him out of the hall in disgrace. At the third party of the season, six days from Christmas, Christopher asks Millie to dance.

The two have barely spoken for a week now, and Christopher is getting right tired of it. The pair have been together since they were twelve, for goodness sake, and they’ve been saving the world and each other ever since. They should be past petty things like misunderstandings, he thinks petulantly.

Thus, the dance. An olive branch, if one will.

“I have half a mind to refuse, Christopher Chant. Who do you think you are, ignoring me for so long?”

Christopher stands there, flabbergasted for a few moments. He wants to insist that _she_ was the one ignoring _him_ , but thinks of Conrad’s disapproving face and manages to keep quiet. Instead, Christopher grabs a hand and nearly drags her onto the dance floor. “Millie,” he says, curving his lips into a charming smile, “we haven’t truly been able to refuse each other anything since we were kids. Don’t start now.”

They dance a waltz, and Christopher enjoys himself, as he always does in Millie’s company. Still, something about the dance feels off, and whether it’s the unusual lack of unrestrained and improper conversation or the fact that Millie’s eyes look exceptionally beautiful with that pale blue dress, he isn’t sure. The two part ways afterwards, Millie insisting she needs to speak with Henrietta, and Christopher being whisked off by a matchmaking mama.

That’s when Christopher realizes something is wrong. It’s like a light switch has been switched off – suddenly, and he can’t quite figure out why, the party has lost what little magic it once held over him. He feels himself turning into the Christopher of six years ago, petulant and overbearing and unspeakably rude.

He needs to get out of the room before Gabriel changes his mind about Christopher finally growing up. Christopher escapes immediately after that next dance, insisting he has important matters to discuss with the Chrestomanci, and he’s ever so sorry he must cancel the dance with Miss Whitmore.

Instead of going to speak with Gabriel, however, Christopher walks briskly to Conrad’s side, trying not to draw too much attention.

“It’s Millie,” he says, shocked. “There’s something going on with Millie.”

“I—Well—” Conrad isn’t sure what to say. The dance was a waltz, after all; the two could have had plenty of time to talk about whatever Millie had discussed with the other girls. At the same time, Millie usually wanted Christopher to figure things out on his own, so Conrad had his doubts. He settles for asking, “What do you mean something is going on?”

“I danced with her, and now I hate the party. We barely even talked!”

Conrad raises an eyebrow. “Do you hate the party because you danced with her, or because she didn’t talk to you when you did?”

“Yes. Both. No, neither. Oh I don’t _know_ , Grant, that’s why I’m asking _you_ for advice!” Christopher looks taken aback at the last sentence, and quickly adds, “I mean, not that you can tell me anything I don’t already know; I am, after all, older and wiser. But I thought a less informed opinion might shed new light on the situation.”

Conrad grins. Christopher has never been able to admit he can’t understand something. “Christopher, it seems to me you like Millie.” Might as well just be out with it, Conrad thinks. He’s always suspected, of course, and has, up to now, assumed Christopher knows as well. The recent series of events, however, makes Conrad revise his opinion.

Christopher blinks back at him. “Well of course I like Millie; we’ve been friends since we were twelve.”

Conrad sighs. “I’m going to say this once, and I’m only saying it for Millie’s sake, not yours. You’re always so sure of yourself, Christopher, but you never say what you mean or what you really feel. You don’t just like her, you love her. I _know_ you love her. She knows you love her. I suspect the whole Castle has known this for years. But it always means a bit more to have it said, yeah?” Conrad pats a hand on Christopher’s shoulder, smiles, and walks off to talk to Jason.

 

Christopher spends the rest of the night dashing into corners or into the gardens to try and find a quiet place to think. He never truly escapes the crush, so instead he’s left with half-formed ideas about why what he feels for Millie can’t be love.

He’s always found Millie beautiful, yes. He still remembers that first summer when she returned from the Swiss boarding school, her cheeks rosy, her curly hair tamed in a neat braid, her walking dress fitting her much differently than he remembered. He had told her she was beautiful; she said he had become extremely handsome. That was that. They moved on, they terrorized the Castle, they hid from summer magic lessons. The last things, those were the sort of hijinks one only got up to with one’s mates, not with the girl you’re supposed to be in love with.

Which obviously meant he doesn’t _love_ her.

Christopher’s feelings haven’t changed in recent years, either. He still finds her distractingly beautiful, but dismisses the thought in favor of having an interesting conversation with a smart, funny, adventurous enchantress who also happens to be a ward of Gabriel de Witt.

He brushes off the thoughts, and as he tumbles into bed, he finds himself only slightly distracted by thoughts of Millie’s blue satin dress that night.

 

What he does find distracting, however, are how many fortune hunters Millie is attracting. He hadn’t noticed them before, but tonight they appear to be out in full force. While Gabriel has done his best to keep quiet about the wealth Mother Proudfoot left Millie—money that will rightfully belong to her dowry and personal expenses as soon as she leaves her finishing school—the fact that Millie attends only the best private schools in all of the Continent and wears only the finest dresses and jewelry makes the young men suspect she might be quite the catch to cover the family debts.

Christopher is enraged. First he talks to Conrad about it. “I’ve never seen so many low life scum swirling around her before. It’s like she’s a piece of meat and they’re a school of piranha.”

Conrad raises an eyebrow. “You realize she leaves school in May, right? She’s practically already in the market for a husband.” Conrad tactfully doesn’t add, “And since you love her you should really be the first to propose.” Christopher is grateful Conrad doesn’t, as Christopher doesn’t really fancy turning his best friend into a frog, even if it would only be temporary.

He speaks with de Witt next. “Why are you letting those—those vultures dance with her? They mean her no good,” he insists, thinking himself Millie’s knight in shining armor. When de Witt only raises a thin eyebrow in reply, Christopher continues. “They mean to marry her for her fortune!”

De Witt’s expression hardly changes as he says, carefully, “Millie is too smart to entertain serious hopes of a happy marriage with any of them, so I see no harm in a few dances. Unless of course, Christopher, you happen to know someone who wishes to dance with her for purer reasons?”

The man says it with the same tone he always does, and yet somehow Christopher feels as if de Witt is part of the Christopher-is-madly-in-love-with-Millie group. He feels trapped, like there are a thousand silver chains slowly encircling his body.

Ridiculous. As if a handsome young man and a beautiful young lady can’t simply be friends.

 

Christmas Eve arrives too quickly, and while Millie and Christopher are most definitely on speaking terms again, nothing is really the same. Christopher hasn’t been able to escape the feeling that everyone in the Castle believes he should marry Millie, and he blames Conrad for putting the idea in his head. He sometimes thinks that maybe marrying Millie wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but he hates doing anything simply because other people want him to.

Marrying Millie should be his idea. Not Conrad’s, not de Witt’s, not Miss Rosalie’s. _His_.

He is just thinking this as the two bump into each other under the doorway, him on his way to the kitchen and her on the way from it. Christopher hears a squeal from across the room he’d just left.

Millie freezes, and Christopher looks around, trying to figure out why. Henrietta—the one who screamed—is pointing above their heads.

Great, he thinks miserably. Now even deciding if I want to kiss her has been taken from me.

Before he has a chance to think or say anything else, he feels a light brush of lips across his. “Don’t be annoying, Christopher. It’s just a bit of mistletoe, so don’t go over-thinking things.”

She walks into the kitchen, and Christopher stares mindlessly after her. Her tone and words don’t match. But even stranger is that Christopher finally doesn’t believe he’s over-thinking things at all when he realizes, yes, maybe this is a different kind of love than friendship.

After all, being caught under the mistletoe with Conrad wouldn’t make him want a second chance at the younger boy’s lips.

Being caught with Millie, however, did.

Christopher makes the mistake of telling as much to Millie later that evening when they are alone in the library. She promptly storms out of the room and shouts, “If that is the best proposal you’ve got, then I really _will_ marry one of those fortune hunters!”

It occurs to Conrad that perhaps Millie danced with those young men on purpose. She was always quite cunning when the situation required.

“Well,” Conrad says as he walks into the room. “That didn’t sound like it went too well.” He expects to find Christopher in the room, crushed and despairing, but instead the older boy has the largest, most ridiculous grin on his face that Conrad has ever seen.

“Well, she did slap me and storm out of the room,” he says, and his red cheek shows the statement to be the truth. He continues, almost giddy. “But Grant—she kissed me first.”


End file.
